


Stay

by Vacantcing



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Post Season 6, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 03:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13494572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacantcing/pseuds/Vacantcing
Summary: Sansa wakes from things that haunt her in the night to a familiar face. Set after 6x10





	Stay

She’s running. The night is dark and full of terrors and Sansa can barely see what is in front of her. Trees tower endlessly up into the night sky, the gnarled branches crossing above like the tangled makings of a cage. Dark arms reach out to tear at her cloak and hood. Sansa can hear creatures running in the wood.

In the distance she hears barking. Behind her torches light up the night in a fiery glow. Men are yelling and searching. Searching for her.

She tries to be as silent as possible, but her breathing is hard to quieten. Her dress is heavy and the cold air stings her lungs and at her watering eyes.  

But she can do it, she can leave this place and fly away. She can be the little dove, the lioness, the wolf. But trees are getting too thick now, the ground too uneven as she tears down the forest floor. All she knows is that she must get away while she still has a chance. She has to keep going, or else she’ll surely die.

Sansa doesn’t want to die. She wants to live.

But the moment her foot falls a little too heavily and she takes a step a little too wide, she knows it’s over. When she tumbles to the ground it was as if time slowed.

She’s made a mistake, another mistake like the stupid, stupid little girl she was.

And then they’re upon her. Her cloak is seized backwards, and her neck is being pulled. She’s being lifted off the ground. Dogs bark deafeningly in her ears and men are laughing. They’ve got her.

She’s being taken back to that place, back to _him_. She starts to scream, loud and strangled. She screams for her mother and for her father before she remembers they are dead and gone. She screams for Robb, Bran, Arya and Rickon and remembers they are all gone too. She screams for Lady and Ser Rodrick and Maester Luwin and then she screams for a boy, a boy with dark hair and sad eyes to come save her. But he’s gone as well. Sansa’s alone, she’s always alone…

“Sansa. _Sansa_!”

She wakes to the soft but frantic shaking of her shoulders. Her throat is raw and her cheeks are wet with tears. Her vision slowly comes into focus and she sees Jon’s concerned face hovering above hers, mouth in a tight frown.

Her eyes flicker behind him to where two guards are standing at the doorway, curious looks on their faces. She notices Jon is wearing his cloak, and under it his nightclothes. Longclaw rests by his side. 

“It’s alright, it’s not real. You’re home, you’re safe,” he hushes in that deep northern tone of his that makes her want to cry on the spot.

She feels lightheaded and soon realises she’s covered in sweat and looks anywhere but him.

Shame comes over Sansa and she feels like a little girl who’s had a nightmare and needs her mother and father to come comfort her. Her face burns even more when she sees her nightshift has fallen down from her shoulders from her thrashing in the night.

Jon must have realised also and draws back quickly, noticing he had been holding onto bare shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I thought he was here. I thought I was being taken back to him, I was screaming but they were still touching me and–” The words tumbled out of her mouth like a wave.

She watches as Jon’s face darkens at her words.

“Ramsey is dead. Him and his men. He will never touch you again.”

Sansa is shivering, but not from the cold. Jon misreads this and reaches up to unfasten his cloak. He drapes it around her shoulders. It’s heavy, and smells like him.

He then straightens up and turns to the two men still standing halfway inside her chamber.

“Leave us.”

The guards hurry out the room, closing the door behind them.

It’s silent for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say. Growing up Sansa had never really paid much attention to her bastard half-brother, or had really even spoken to him for that matter. While the rest of her siblings gravitated towards Jon Sansa had stayed away, sharing the same feelings as her lady mother.

So it had been hard these few weeks, getting reacquainted with someone you never really deemed family in the first place. And now it seemed Jon was the only family she had left.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” she says. Sansa wonders if the whole of Winterfell has heard her screams and can’t bear the thought.

“It’s alright. I have them too.”

That causes her to forget her embarrassment for a moment and to really look at him. Jon looked so much older now, his mess of dark curls pulled back into a tight bun and traces of stubble now lined his jaw, evidence that he is now a man, not the boy as she had last seen him.

But as much as Jon had grown he was still Jon. Still had that quiet unsure air around himself, even now as Lord of Winterfell.

He looks tired, and she feels bad for disturbing him. Jon had so much more responsibility now, so much more expected of him. She knows that he does not get as much sleep as he should, and judging from his appearance now, he had still been awake when she had begun her nightmare.

She wants to grab his hands and tell him that everything was going to be fine. It didn’t matter if she believed it herself, she wanted him to know. But what she said next saw all words of comfort disappear from her lips. She was reminded of those things that may have given Jon his nightmares. The things that made her shiver even if all she’s heard of them were horrible, vivid stories.

“Do you… have nightmares about the White Walkers?”

Jon had told her about those things back at Castle Black. Those creatures that sounded so much like things from Old Nan’s stories.

“Aye, I do. I have nightmares about the Wall, about Rickon. About my brothers that betrayed me. About Ygr–” John turns his head and looks away.

“About the crypts. About you.”

“About me?” She’s surprised.

Jon turns away, averting his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Sansa sits up and hesitates briefly before placing her hand on top of his. His skin is cold, and she wraps her fingers around them in hopes to bring them warmth. She feels Jon tighten up at the contact, but she holds on and eventually he returns the squeeze. He sighs.

“I dream that we were separated, and that I can’t find you. I’m left alone.”

The thought makes Sansa suck in a breath.

“I dream of it too. Being alone,” she says.

Jon’s gaze rises to meets hers. She gives him a weak smile.

“But we’re not alone anymore. We have each other.”

With that she earns a smile from Jon. It’s a small smile, and a rare one. Sansa wishes it was always upon his face.

She only pauses for a moment, but she leans forward, and her lips meet his scarred cheek. She’d meant to follow up and say it was a thank you for comforting her, but the words disappear on her tongue when she realises how close they were. She could almost feel his breath on her skin.

She watches as Jon’s mouth parts in surprise and Sansa waits for him to say something, but no words come. He doesn’t say a thing as he gives her a nod and leaves the room.

After the door closes, Sansa is still sitting up, an unfamiliar warmth in her chest.

It had been dark, but Sansa saw the blush either way.

 

 

 


End file.
